A Song from a Distance For Woeser Monday 24 November 2008, by Bhuchung D Sonam My body is trapped in a heated room. Light shines from the ceiling. A leather sofa invites me To let my spine relax, But my heart runs To that river by the village That bridge made of leather thongs Rocking with the wind, That dusty yard where I was tied to a boulder while mama Worked in the field everyday. Here grey houses stare at me. The people on the train, Frozen, edgy, tired, lonely, lost, Wish for other versions of their lives. My mind runs to That village by The Scorpion Hill Where the willow trees whistle, Where I once set a farmer’s hut on fire. I am now a hair of a dandelion flying with wind. What about you, my rebel? I see that you, too, are trapped In a far corner of a mad city Under stars shimmering bright yellow – Does your sofa invite you? Or is it the eyes on the wall that watch Every twitch of your muscles? I see that your heart runs away To your home in the mountains, Where under the blue sky Pointed stars watch. From a distance I sing: You and I are the fragments of an arrow Shot forth from Gesar’s bow, You and I are the ears of barley Watered by the Yarlung River. Every day when I open the internet My heart fears that there will be news Of your disappearance, Like Dolma Kyab into a cell Before his Himalayas on Stir Could be born to a family of books, Like Jamyang Kyi taken away unseen Soon after she produced the evening news, Like that opera master captured in darkness Before his songs became one with the wind, Like that old woman from Barkhor Who disappeared with her prayer wheel. From a distance I sing: You and I are the pieces of a broken pot In which Milarepa cooked his nettles, You and I are the leaves of a juniper tree Fragrant in the hills of Amnye Machen. Here in exile, my wrinkles deepen. The leaves fall from the trees. You will sharpen your pen in that city Where each of your words is measured, Each breath checked, each step followed. But your pen dances with tales Which come to me in another tongue. From a distance I sing: You and I are shattered words in a poem Gendun Choephel wrote in his cell, You and I are chipped pieces Of Yurupon’s sword that pierced the April night. One day You and I will have A bowl of thukpa In that dingy Lhasa hotel – You and I will be Snow lions roaming the mountains of Nyenchen Thangla – ~#~ tibetwrites.org/?A-Song-from-a-Distance
Posted on: Sat, 31 Aug 2013 10:34:33 +0000